


Borrowed Time

by shealynn88



Category: Blade (Movie Series)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-16 00:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shealynn88/pseuds/shealynn88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Because she'd saved him.  And he'd saved her.  Because they argued more than any married couple he'd ever known, and because he'd die for her.</i>
</p><p>Hannibal and Abigail, over time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Borrowed Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alyse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyse/gifts).



> Parts of this story contain spoilers for Blade: Trinity.

* * *

Danica dragged him back from the doorway as he watched for the archer. “Get your hands off me, you fucking bitch-whore,” he snapped at her.

She backhanded him casually, and it hurt like hell. If he'd been human, it would have snapped his neck. “I hope they rip you apart, you ungrateful worm,” she hissed at him. Then she took off after Asher, the older vampires leaving him in the dust.

He stepped out to follow them, keeping low. “Fuck you, you stupid –“ He stopped abruptly as something sliced and burned through his shoulder, and he looked down dumbly to see a silver arrow tip jutting through his shirt.

“Fuck,” he managed as he fell to his knees. He hadn't expected to die like this, but he couldn't say he was sorry. As far as he could tell, it was about five years late.

Someone rolled him over and he bared his fangs, ready to strike.

A sharp point bit into his neck. “Don't,” she said.

“You have terrible aim,” he told her as nonchalantly as he could manage.

She nudged the arrow in his shoulder with her arm and he winced. “It's exactly where I wanted it. We have a cure, and we need to test it. The way you were talking, it didn't seem like you'd miss them much.” 

His mouth quirked briefly and he clamped down on the hope that rose with her words. _Cure._ “Ah. yeah. Danica and I – we have pet names for each other. I call her bitch-whore.” He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice as he concluded, “She calls me slave.”

The archer shook her head, jaw set. “Not anymore.”

* * *

When they got to the ledge above the alley, he watched her slide the earbuds in before she crouched down, watching.

He bent down beside her and kept his voice low but conversational. “Don't you find it a little challenging to really be in the moment with those things blaring in your ears? I mean, no judgement here, obviously, but I prefer to, you know,” he gestured with his hands in parallel lines, channeling his best Bruce Lee, "Train all my senses on the task at hand.”

She glanced around briefly. “Have you ever _heard_ a vampire come after you?”

He conceded the point with a shrug. “And what if a friend yells, 'help, I'm dying!' Would that be helpful at all to hear?”

She turned back to the alley, one hand resting against the quiver on her back. “I work alone.”

“Right.” He grinned briefly at the back of her head, baring all his teeth in frustration. “Right. That is very surprising, you being so...friendly and all.”

She continued watching the alley, with no indication she'd heard him.

* * *

“Jesus- _fuck_! Whistler, you're supposed to get out of the way of those, not jump in front of them!” He clamped his jaw and yanked her around roughly to look at the metal rod jutting out of her thigh. The one that had been headed for his chest before she'd put herself in it's way.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. “Pull it out, King, we need to get out of here.” Her voice was incredibly precise, with a heavy undercurrent of agony.

“No way, you'll hemorrhage. I'll let Sommer kill you.” He lifted her swiftly, in front of him, one hand tangled in her hair, the other under her knees, and then he was heading toward the exit.

“Put me down,” she hissed. “You'll get both of us killed!”

He shook his head and hunched down to avoid another round of fire from the corridor. “Not if you shoot them,” he argued, ducking again out of instinct. “Do I have to do everything around here?”

She hissed in pain as she shifted around. “Let go of my arm,” she ordered tersely, and he tucked his hand around her ribs instead, fingers just brushing her breast. She glanced at him sternly. “Don't get any ideas.” She slung her shotgun around one-handed and steadied it against his shoulder, eyes on the vampires behind them. 

“Let's go,” she said grimly.

* * *

They went down in a heap on the sparring mat with him on top. It wasn't victory, exactly – he was fairly sure she'd swept his feet and they'd just gotten tangled up before he went down. But he'd never admit it.

He was breathing hard, staring at her from two inches away. It only seemed natural to lean in and close the gap.

He didn't know why. The reasons were tangled – like their limbs, like his life, like everything about the darkness they breathed. It just seemed like the thing to do. Because she'd saved him. And he'd saved her. Because they argued more than any married couple he'd ever known, and because he'd die for her.

And then her elbow cracked against his cheek and she had him on his stomach with his wrist lodged uncomfortably between his shoulder blades – high enough to make his eyes water.

“Don't do that again,” she said, punctuating her words with a twist that made him groan.

“That arm you have there?” he managed between clenched teeth. “I'm still attached to it." His voice ratcheted up an octave. "Barely.” She eased up slightly. “Next time, the time-honored tradition of drink throwing might be the way to go,” he continued.

She leaned forward, cutting off his next suggestion. Her voice hissed in his ear. “You're going to die.”

“Wow, you sure know how to make a guy feel – ”

“You are, King. Or I am. We're at war, here. Let's not complicate things.”

Then the hands on his wrist and weight on his back were gone, and by the time he managed to drag himself up, she was nowhere in sight.

* * *

He leaned against the wall outside Zoe's room and listened to Abby's voice as she read. Her voice was steady, low enough so that all he could hear was the hypnotic rise and fall of it. After everything, she was still just as hard as ever. Just as impervious. Even though she'd lost her father and her best friend, and the cell she and her father built together.

She seemed the same, but more so, and it almost made it worse. Because he was changed. Irrevocably.

He'd been tortured before. He would be again. It was the nature of the dangerous game they played. Abby had been right. One of them would die before the other. Hell, _both_ of them would die before their time. But as far as he could tell, that didn't mean they needed to _un_ complicate it – it meant they needed to pack as much living into the next day, or week, or month, or whatever they had left – as they could.

Because tomorrow a vampire Pomeranian might eat his face off. 

She didn't leave the room until Zoe was asleep, but he was fine with waiting. He'd been doing it his whole life.

“Go to sleep,” she told him without glancing over. “We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

“We have a lot to do everyday,” he said, willing her to look at him.

She did, turning toward him slowly. “Don't make this into a joke. Just...”

She looked worn down. Her cheekbones were sharp against the deep shadows of her face, stark in the slanting light from the streetlight beyond the window. 

“Abby,” he whispered. Just her name, and it was the truest thing he'd ever said to her, the only way he could say it.

He expected her to turn away, but she didn't. He watched one tear track down her cheek, her expression unchanged, and then he reached for her.

She kissed him. Hard, like she was bringing him back to life. Sharp and desperate and demanding, and he answered it as well as he could, pulling her closer and breathing her in and swallowing her grief until it was indistinguishable from his own.

“Abby,” he breathed again, “Abby,” like a mantra, unable to stop.

“Hannibal,” she said sharply, silencing him. She took his face in her hands, grabbing him too hard, digging fingers into the rising bruises until he grimaced.

Her eyes searched his, and her lips were a line of pain he wasn't sure she'd ever lose. Danica couldn't break him. The vampires couldn't. But this just might. _Abigail_ just might.

“Me too,” she whispered finally, and just like that, he could breathe.

He thought of a million responses, then discarded them all.

And then he kissed her.


End file.
